The Curious Case of John Watson
by Lawliet's Angel
Summary: Sherlock never questions why he can so easily imagine living with John for the rest of his life. Like John's hand curling around his wrist, strolling the dark, chilly streets of London at night, it just feels right. JOHNLOCK


**A/N: Hello my lovely readers! It's been a while since I've been active, but I do plan on finishing my other story eventually! In the meantime, here's a Johnlock ficlet I've been thinking about for a few days. Not sure where it fits in to the canon...I wrote it vaguely so it's either an alternate universe where Mary doesn't exist, or a long time in their future after Mary dies. (Yes, I do think they're going to kill her off.) Anyhow, enjoy!**

* * *

It starts slowly, inconspicuously; a light touch here or there. Sherlock will be sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a file, and John will set a hand on his shoulder, just for a moment, just while passing through. John will pass Sherlock a mug of tea and allow his fingertips to brush over Sherlock's knuckles, too softly to be non-deliberate. A swift pat on the back as they are passing in the hallway; the tiniest graze of fingers through Sherlock's hair after saying goodnight. They happen too infrequently to address but not so much that Sherlock doesn't remember them from one time to the next.

It occurs to Sherlock that this might just be how interactions with John Watson go, when you've known him for as long as Sherlock has. The detective has never cohabited with anyone for this long; he has no frame of reference, nor anyone he can ask without feeling oddly vulnerable. For some reason, he wants his life with John to remain private.

No, this is something he must work out for himself, a prospect that becomes all the more confusing when John's habit of touching him becomes more recurrent and more casual. After a case, John will slide his arm through Sherlock's and walk home with him. At home, when Sherlock is on the sofa watching his crap telly, John sits close to him, much closer than before, so close that their shoulders rub together when he laughs. His speech patterns are normal. His activity is are normal. Everything about John is normal except for his strange new practice.

Perhaps he doesn't notice he's doing it? No, it's too often and too obvious for that. Perhaps he thinks Sherlock himself doesn't notice? But how could he think Sherlock wouldn't see such an evident character change this far into their partnership?

What surprises Sherlock the most, however, isn't John's new behavioral patterns. The thing that truly shocks him is how he doesn't mind any of it. In fact, he rather enjoys the warmth and attention he receives from John. He thinks about it and finds that he can't imagine ever being bothered by it, even if it continues for years and years and years…

Sherlock never questions why he can so easily imagine living with John for the rest of his life. Like John's hand curling around his wrist, strolling the dark, chilly streets of London at night, it just feels right.

* * *

The next thing that ensues is eye contact. Like the touches, it starts slowly. Sherlock will catch John staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and John will blink and look away as soon as Sherlock's blue eyes are upon him.

But soon John doesn't look away. Soon he keeps on staring for seconds, even minutes after Sherlock has noticed him. Sherlock wonders briefly if he should consider this a challenge before shaking the thought from his mind. If John wanted to best him, surely he'd choose something more physical, as is his forte?

Sherlock thinks about asking John what this is about. He does on a few occasions; one lazy afternoon, Sherlock is sitting in his armchair in front of the television and John appears before him, blocking his view and bending down slightly, peering into Sherlock's eyes.

"What are you doing?" asks Sherlock, and John replies:

"Just looking."

The detective asks a few more times and receives similarly unhelpful answers. Maybe he was right before; maybe this _is _a challenge. John wants Sherlock to figure something out, and Sherlock will be damned if he doesn't rise up to the task.

Very few people have managed to surprise Sherlock Holmes, he thinks, but John Watson certainly seems to have figured out the algorithm.

* * *

The kiss, when it does happen, is somehow neither anticipated nor unexpected. Sherlock is horizontal on the sofa, eyes closed, palms together like he's in prayer. Then a shadow crosses his eyelids, his eyes open, and John is hovering over him, eyes soft and smiling slightly.

He starts to lower his head, and Sherlock doesn't realize what's happening until John's mouth is already upon his. Neither of them moves. John doesn't open his mouth. It is not wild or passionate or bold. It is soft and sweet and warm, just a touch of lips, and when John breaks away he is smiling even brighter and Sherlock doesn't say anything for a full minute.

"You kissed me," he says, finally.

"I did," agrees John.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

John laughs. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sherlock thinks for a moment and then smiles, too. "I'd rather you kissed me again, for the moment."

John is more than happy to oblige. This time is deeper, rough and filled with an unspoken desperation to be closer. Sherlock closes his eyes and he can feel John everywhere at once, a dark, robust red, heat pervading into his very being. There are teeth nipping at his bottom lip, then the flick of a tongue, and suddenly his hands are in John's hair and he cannot, will not be anywhere else but here, in this moment. There is nothing but the scent of John filling his nose, the feel of John's oatmeal jumper against his collarbone, John's hands on the back of his neck…

They break away for air at the same time. John's lips are pink and glistening and they are both panting slightly. Sherlock's heart is racing; he can feel it in his ears, can feel it pulsating in his own chest, and finally, finally, he can read in John's eyes exactly what the doctor was trying to tell him for all those weeks.

* * *

Eventually, they do talk about it.

Sherlock is spread across the sofa, this time with his head in John's lap. John is running his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls when the detective brings it up:

"When did you notice?"

John chuckles. "I was wondering when you'd get curious. Your feelings, or mine?"

Sherlock tilts his head slightly. "Both, I suppose."

"Well," begins John. "Took me a while, but eventually I did start to wonder why I was always so willing to abandon a date to join you on a case. And why it never bothered me as much as it should have when I got dumped because of it."

Sherlock looks a bit pleased. John continues.

"Then I remembered the first night we spent together, at Angelo's, remember? You thought I was attracted to you from the get-go."

"And you denied it," interrupts Sherlock. "I thought I had misread you."

"So did I," continues John. "But then there was The Woman. She was the first to mention I didn't have to be gay to like you. She said you were an exception for both of us."

"Mm. Quite correct, of course," says Sherlock.

"I didn't see it that way at the time, though," John replies. "Until a while back, when I started thinking…"

Sherlock raises his head. "Yes?"

"Well," says John, "if two of the smartest people in the world thought I was attracted to you…maybe I was. It wasn't just her, either. Lots of other people think we're a couple. It happens all the time on cases. So, once I stopped vehemently denying it and thought it through logically, it didn't take too long to figure it out. Maybe it wasn't love at the time, but I think I've probably had some sort of feelings for you since the day we met."

The detective grins smugly. "I _knew_ I wasn't wrong!"

"You weren't," agrees John, straightening one of Sherlock's curls and watching it spring back into place. "Took me long enough to figure it out, though."

"But those are your feelings," says Sherlock with intrigue. "How did you know about mine? _I _didn't even know about mine."

John laughs again. "Ah, now that took some time."

"Do tell."

"I took a page from The Woman's story, actually."

Sherlock blinks.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. I can pick up a few tricks here and there. Anyway, you knew she liked you by taking her pulse and looking at her pupils. That was easy to do because she was always all over you, but we've never been that way."

"So you had to get me used to being close to you," says Sherlock in his _I've been an idiot _voice.

"Exactly," John resumes. "I needed to know your body's reactions weren't purely from the shock of me touching you. Of course, I had to do it over a long period of time, for different lengths and in different situations. After you woke up, for example, or during a case or an evening in. I had to make sure you always had the same reaction to me; that it wasn't situational. Of course, I couldn't tell you what I was up to or it might-"

"Bias the results," provides Sherlock, beaming up at John rather proudly.

John smiles. "Right. And so, ultimately, I got consistent results. Your pulse," he says, pressing two fingers to Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock inhales sharply. "Always elevated. And your pupils."

John pulls the spoon from Sherlock's mug of tea and licks it clean before offering it to Sherlock, who peers into the reflection of his own eye on the back. "Dilated," he says.

"Yup. So it's like you say sometimes. When you've eliminated the impossible, and all that."

Sherlock stares up at John, looking quite impressed. "You deduced I was in love with you."

John sniggers. "I didn't deduce. I saw."

"You _observed,_" corrects Sherlock. "Effectively."

"Not effectively enough," shrugs John, resuming playing with Sherlock's hair. "Think of how much time we've wasted, missing each other all these years."

"On the contrary, John," Sherlock says. "We've got the rest of our lives."

John rests his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Was that a proposal?"

"Were you expecting one?"

"I never know what to expect from you."

"Then I suppose you'll just have to learn. Let's start now." Sherlock turns to John and stares warmly into his blue-green eyes. "What am I thinking about?"

John pauses to think. "Case?"

Sherlock grins. "Ah, yes, the curious case of John Watson. Tell me, how exactly did we crack that one, again?"

"Oh shut up," says John, smiling into a kiss.

They continue to get into silly arguments about Sherlock's dizzying sleep schedule or John's incessant neatness. They still go on adventures, still solve crimes and go for dinners at odd hours. Life goes on for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. But now there is a bit more warmth in their lives and Sherlock thinks, even if he doesn't ever understand completely, that it's fine. It was always fine.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked! Comments are always appreciated :)**


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